


Third Degree Burns

by the_three_trenchcoat_wearers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Firefighter Dean, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Personally I don't like coffee, Physical Therapist Castiel, Physical Therapy, Sam's not helping, Slow Build, The violence is from the fire, burn injury, i'll add more as i write, neither is Gabe, so much coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_three_trenchcoat_wearers/pseuds/the_three_trenchcoat_wearers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his heart he knows that what he did was right- going back in to save the little girl. Somehow though, Dean feels that coming out of that fire alive is worse than anything else. Can’t walk, can’t use his arm, it’s not like the kids saying “He’s a monster” help anything. But stepping into that ice white room was the best thing he had ever done since saving her. Those cool blue eyes dimmed the roaring pain of his arm and leg and back. Those soft hands calmed the burning pain in his body. But the old soul is what calmed his raging fire, tamed his burning heart.</p><p>**I'm slowly working on this again. I took a year off from it because I had lost any and all inspiration for it. I think I've found it again though, and it's back on track for your enjoyment!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally came up with this idea while watching the music video for the song The Light by Disturbed. 
> 
> This piece deals with the nature of a fireman, and how physical appearance can make the strong, weak. I hope that you enjoy this. I don't know how often I will update this, but I have a feeling that I will be making this a decent length story and that I will be adding chapters fairly soon. 
> 
> **I am not a medical professional, so I do not really know what all goes on in a PT (Physical Therapist's) office, but I will do my best to make it sound real. Also, sorry for any spelling for grammatical errors.

The flickering lights cause him to squint his eyes. He’s still having trouble being able to focus on anything when there is too much light, he’s spent so much time in the dark lately. The hospital room always had the curtains drawn closed, and he kept his apartment dark. Even the light in his fridge was too bright at times for him. This however was nothing in comparison to blacking out and waking up, staring up, into the flashing red and white and red and white and red and white lights of the ambulance. The small flashback brought him back to the present, where the young receptionist sat at the white desk, tapping away at a keyboard. Dean was uncomfortable with the way that he could hear every click of every key, all the way from the other side of the room. He leaned on his crutch, catching his breath before finally making his hobbling way to her. She had dark hair, ruby red lips, dark sultry eyes, holy crap those boobs-

“Can I help you sir?” Dean blinked, unaware that he had been there for a moment or two. Was he staring at her boobs the entire time?” He shifted his weight, clearing his throat, noticing the way that it vibrated around the room. Speaking was still hard, but hey, she wasn’t turning her head in disgust so that was a plus.

“Uh, I- I’m here to see a Dr. Novak? I have an appointment.” His once proud voice now trailed off into a crackling mess. Ashamed for the loss of something he was so proud of, he broke eye contact with the receptionist. Her nails were painted black. Some had chipped edges. Her thumb had a ring on it. So did her pointer finger on the other hand. No wedding ring though.

“May I have your name?” Soft. That’s a good word for her voice. Behind that softness however was an authoritative tone, probably for the people who couldn’t be bothered to do anything. Hell, that’s why he was in physical therapy to begin with. He couldn’t do anything on his own. He could wipe his own ass, and that’s about it.

“Winchester. Dean Winchester.” Clickclickclickclickclick.

“Ah, here we go Mr. Winchester. So, there are a few things that we need to to fill out really quickly before we can send you back there. I will ask you a few questions, and then I just need you to sign one thing for me. Ok?” The authoritative tone was gone. That just must be an attention grabber. Not that her boobs were attention grabbers enough, but something else has to grab the attention of those who weren’t into boobs. But he nodded anyways. She pulled out a piece of paper that was half filled out. WINCHESTER, DEAN was at the very top. She cleared her throat, a soft noise, and began. “Do you have an insurance provider?”

“Yeah. Let me grab my card for you.” Ok, easier said than done. He had to lean his weight on his right leg and on the crutch under his right arm. He couldn’t put his left leg down, and like hell was he moving his left arm. Inside pocket of his coat, over his heart. He rested his weight on his armpit on the crutch, doing his best to pull his arm around him enough to grab the insurance card. He felt the crutch wobble. He looked back up to the receptionist. Was there really no judgement in her eyes? Yeah there is, but it’s her job to hide it. Giving up on grabbing it on his own, he felt himself form the words he hated most. They slipped out quietly. He couldn’t have anyone else hear him. “Could you help me?” She nodded, a cute little hum escaping her lips. Standing from behind the desk she came around to him. He figured that she would be wearing heels or something. Nope, tennis shoes.

“Which pocket is it in?” Her head barely came up to his chest. Dang, she was really tiny.

“Inside, over my heart. It’s usually the easiest pocket to grab things out of.” There was nothing sensual about the way she pulled open his jacket, but he adverted his eyes away because of the intimacy of the act. He felt her reach up in his pocket and pull out the card. She replaced his jacket back to where it was, making sure that it was sitting on his left shoulder comfortably. It wouldn’t sit comfortably for a while… that was one thing he knew.

As she sat back down and began entering his information into the computer system, she paused, looking up at Dean. “Really, there is nothing to be ashamed of. We are here to help patients. If today you can’t reach your pocket but next week you can, that’s an accomplishment anyone should be proud of. You’ll get it yourself soon. I am very proud, however, that you had the courage to ask for help.” She gave him a small smile, one that wa a facade to the underlying pity that she gave him. He nodded his head, still unable to meet her eyes. When she was done entering the information, she walked back around, opened his jacket, replaced the card, replaced the jacket, and returned to her seat. No words.

“Ok, now that we have your insurance covered, let’s get onto medications. Are you taking any prescription medications right now?” Her hands sat poised over the paper, ready to write.

“Vicodin mostly. Venlafaxine. Multi vitamins. Pretty much it.” He was a depressed, slightly crazy, Vicodin filled mess. Even the Vicodin didn’t take all the pain away. She wrote it all down.

“Do you have any history of depression, anxiety, panic attacks, ADHD, OCD, or any other mental illness that we should know about?”

“Depression and anxiety are new for me. My mom had anxiety attacks. My dad has OCD.”

“In yourself or your family is there: high or low blood pressure, diabetes, any eye disease, any early or regular onset hearing loss, heart problems, digestive problems, eating disorders, any drug or alcohol dependency, and any abuse of recreational drugs?”

“Dad’s got high blood pressure. He’s also an alcoholic. He’s also got a bad heart. I got electrocuted when I was 20 which gave me an irregular heartbeat. Before the drugs I was borderline alcoholic. I’ve smoked a few blunts in my lifetime but that was before I- before the accident. I haven’t had one in a few years, so it’s been a while.” Scribble, write, scribble, write.

“Are you sexually active?” The tilt of her eyebrow was only slightly misleading as to the reason for that question.

“Not for a while.” He could feel his voice fall again. Would this interrogation be over soon? He wanted this to be over and done with. But when she opened her mouth one more time, he knew he wasn’t done quite yet.

“Last set of questions, I promise.” She straightened out the paper in front of her. “Has anyone in your family committed suicide, and have you ever had the urge?” Wow, that was a blatant question.

“Family no. Me? Of course. You see me. I see me. The kids on the street see me and even run away. Of course I’ve thought about picking up my shotgun and blowing my brains out. It’s simple really.” Ok, that was a little harsher than it needed to be. She wrote quickly. Had there always been a ticking clock on the wall? That was driving him insane. Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick-

“Ok. Dr. Novak will be out to get you in a few minutes. Feel free to sit if you would like.” The once light lilt of her voice was gone. Obviously the suicide thing had gone a little too far, but a physical therapist wasn’t the only kind of therapist he needed to see. PTSD was no laughing matter, and the pain of his entire body made everything so much more surreal. He gave her a curt nod, and turned towards the chairs. Several were quite low to the ground, others at regular height, and a few were tall enough to just sit on. He hobbled over towards the tall ones, and did his best to push himself up onto it. The squeak of pain that he let out was hidden by the front door opening, the tinkling bell obscuring the curse words that fell from his lips. He slid off the chair and just leaned against the wall. The person that had come in was walking just fine. That is until Dean noticed the mechanics going on under her right knee. She walked very well with a false leg. He watched the two of them interact some. They had known one another for a while. Both were lax with their posture, whereas the receptionist had been rigid with him. An easy banter was struck up between the two of them. Several minutes passed, and his right leg was starting to grow weary. Perhaps he should have sat down in one of the lower chairs. He just started to turn towards one of them when the doors behind the front desk opened.

“Dean Winchester?” Holy. Shit. Suddenly the fire that raged through his skin, the burning and the pulling of his flesh, the sizzling feeling every time he moved was suddenly doused with the calm look from frozen blue eyes. It seemed that their color was not only calming to his skin, but to his heart as well. He didn’t pay much attention to when his heart skipped a beat. It tends to do that. He caught Dean’s eye and walked over. Tall, dark hair, those eyes that he could see from across the room, and a white lab coat that billowed out behind him as he walked. He wore black suit pants, a white dress shirt, and a blue tie that was not only twisted around, but made his eyes stand out even brighter against the white backdrop. He didn’t bother to offer a hand to shake, seeing as how his one working hand was clutched tightly to his crutch. “My name is Castiel Novak. I will be your physical therapist.” His voice was as cool as his eyes. Not in a menacing way, but the soft rumble was calming.

“Nice to meet you Dr. Novak.” Dean nodded his head as a greeting, since, you know, hands are out of the question.

“Please, call me Castiel. It’s less formal, less scary. If you would, please follow me. We will take you to the therapy room where we will assess your particular situation.” His smile was infectious- well, it was if you had any life in your soul. His had all but burned away, just like the skin on his arm. He would have smiled if he could, but that was just not possible when your soul had been ripped out from you. Dean nodded again, and Castiel turned around and started walking towards the back door. He walked slower than he did walking towards Dean, and for the slight adjustment of speed, Dean was grateful. Before- everything- he used to accidentally out-walk everything around him. That’s what the legs of a six foot, two inch man could do. Now though, he shuffled slowly, making sure that each time he planted his crutch it was square. Each time he shifted his right foot, the left one touched the ground slightly, causing pain to go through his leg. He couldn’t do much physical training in a cast that went from ankle to thigh, so he figured that this session was just going to be about his arm.

The room they entered was much more enjoyable than the front area. The walls were a soft yellow, the carpet was a beige with small swirls of purple throughout. Parallel bars were one one side of the room. Next to them were large exercise balls, then some small weights, a few yoga mats next to them, and along the wall to his left (opposite the parallel bars)- “Why do you have mirrors all along that wall?” His reflection looked back at him in disappointment. The once army straight shoulders now slouched under the weight of the heavy looks he got from passerby's. His left leg, wrapped in a thick white cast from ankle to thigh had no decorations, mostly because nobody liked him enough to be around him long enough to put a sticker on it, especially now with his shortened temper. His jeans were cut open along that leg, kept long however because he did not do shorts… at all. His leather jacket, so beloved by himself and those that once loved him, now partly hid his left arm in its sling, hugged close to his body, away from harm's way. The top of the bandages from his back stuck up from under the collar of his jacket, a simple reminder that even sleeping was no longer a welcome task to look forward to, but one of pain and annoyance. If he could stay awake forever, he would.

“So that you can see your progress. It’s a simple reminder to yourself that you want to get better.”

“It’s also a simple reminder of why people don’t look at me.” His once dazzling green eyes that everyone commented on were now dull, their life drawn from them. He used to have crows feet in the corners of his eyes because he smiled and laughed so much with his coworkers, but he hasn’t broken into even a grin a weeks. They say that seeing someone like this is like seeing a bad car wreck. You want to look away but you can’t. Dean didn’t find it troublesome at all to cover every mirror in his apartment with a sheet or pillowcase. All but a small corner of his bathroom mirror, where he would look to shave every few days, was covered. He couldn’t understand why people would want to continuously look at someone who was so destroyed, broken, torn to shreds. Looking away from the mirror, he caught eyes with the doctor who was staring quite deeply into his soul. It was almost creepy.

“It’s a reminder that sometimes you have to face your fears. So how do you face the fear of rejection of others? You learn to accept yourself. We put those mirrors up not only to show you what you are striving to be, but what you already are. Someone who is getting help, getting better. Someone who is willing to work hard to be able to get back on path. We put those up so that you learn that you can’t run forever.” Castiel stood in the middle of the room, obviously giving Dean some space as he looked at his full reflection since- well, that.

“It’s an evil reminder.”

“It’s only evil if you let it be.” With those words his heart beat twice in the span of when only one should be. He looked away from the doctor and back to the mirror. Yeah, this truly was an evil reflection. But no matter, he had to do this before his insurance ran out. He focused on placing the crutch, shuffling his foot, placing the crutch, shuffling his foot. Now, Dean’s by no means out of shape, but he was panting by the time Castiel led them to an exam like table at the other end of the room. He cast a harsh glare to the doctor as he pulled himself onto the table, making sure to rest as much of his broken leg on the surface as possible. Castiel cleared his throat.

“So, we are going to start off with some simple questions. Not like the interrogation that you had to go through out there though. This one is more designed to gauge your movement and ability to move. So, let’s start with at home. How much walking do you do at your place of residence on any given day?” He didn’t have any kind of clipboard with him, so Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to remember all of this.

“Some. I live in an apartment, so it’s not that hard to get from one room to the other. I lived on the first floor anyways so stairs aren’t that big of a problem for me on a regular basis. But my usual routine is from my bed to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, then to the living room, then to my bedroom, then to the kitchen, then to the bedroom, then to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, then to the living room, then to the bedroom. Repeat the next day. So I actually do quite a bit, but walking with one leg is really hard.”

“Yes, I do realize it’s hard. But you walk around more than many that I see. And that’s before your first PT session.” Dean warmed to the smile that Castiel gave him, but it still wasn’t enough to lift his spirits to be able to return it with one of his own. “Ok, next question. Do you have any range of mobility with your leg?” Castiel pointed to the one in the cast, as if the question needed any more clarification.

“Well, It can go straight out in front of me, as you see. It’s too heavy to really do anything with, but I can swing it back and forth a little bit if I am just standing and have my hip up. I haven’t tried out to the side just because of how it sits on my leg though.”

“No worries. The range of motion you do have sounds really good. I’ll test it later, but I do believe you. I just have to see for myself. Now, for your arm. Do you have any range of movement in that arm? It can be even just the movement of your fingers.” As if to demonstrate how good he can move his fingers, he clenched his hand into a fist and then let it go. Show off.

“I can move my shoulder a little bit. Most of my movement is limited by the sling. It also really hurts to move because of the bad skin on it. I can kind of move my wrist, but the skin graft on it isn’t as soft as the one on the forearm. I have really good movement in my middle finger though. That one I made sure of.” When he said things like that, people always cringed or shied away. Castiel? He smiled. He even chuckled a little bit.

“Well, I sure am glad that you are able to find some aspects of joy from your situation.” He had grabbed a chair from nearby, probably one that patients used when they got too tired to do anything other than stand. He scooted closer, leaving only about three feet of distance between the two of them. “I have to ask though, as a mere formality I assure you,” he knew what was coming, “what happened that caused you to need PT?” There it was. It was phrased differently than what most others say, but the point is the exact same. Why do you look so screwed up?

Dean looked at Castiel as though he had been punched in the face. The pure terror and torture that filled his lungs burned- just like the smoke had done.

_Static crackled over the intercom just as the fire alarm rang out, giving the men and women of Firehouse 451 the critical information they would need so that they can assess the situation calmly and collectedly. “South 18th street, a set of condo buildings went into flame about two minutes ago. Flames are going quickly. People inside, check for animals as well. It’s an old building so be sure to watch your step, especially when going up into the higher levels.” The voice faded out and everyone had just finished suiting up. He was still proud of the suit he wore. The bright yellow was an annoying color but he was proud to wear it and proud to make sure that Kansas didn’t completely go up in smoke._

_The ride was fairly quick, only about two minutes to get there, and what they saw was far worse than what they had been debriefed on over the intercom system. The condos weren’t separated at all, but pushed right up against one another. He could see someone in the upper floor of the building walking around. Three people were already standing outside, their jeans and tee shirts a sign that they might have been barbecuing. As he stepped off of the engine and walked towards the building to get a better look at what was going on, he heard one of the worst sounds any fireman can hear- actually, he heard two. The first was a groan from the building itself. It's moans and creaks meant that it could crumble at any moment. The next worst sound that he could hear that even more terrifying paired with the groaning building, was a young girl calling out to him._

_“HELP! I’M UP HERE!” Desperately looking across the face of the building he finally saw her. She couldn’t have been more than twelve. Her spindly arms were painted with ash and soot, her hair was singed at the ends, and she wouldn’t lean out the window because she was clutching something to her chest. A teddy bear. Dean turned from her and found Chief Uriel, waiting for orders._

_“Dean, Benny, Ash, you three take the axes that we have on board and go inside, find people and animals, get them out. Charlie, Garth, Michael and Dorothy will take the hose. Double check your oxygen tanks, make sure that they are completely filled before you go in. You have one minute to check gear and go in. Understood?”_

_“Yes Chief.” The three men rang out in unison, immediately pulling their tanks from their backs. Once they were all set, they grabbed the axes from the side of the engine. Pulling down their helmets, making sure that their neck was protected and that their gloves were on as tight as they could be, Dean lead the way into the building._

“Dean? Are you there? I’m sorry to have sent you back to a bad place, but I do need to know. Anything you can tell me is helpful.” When did he get close enough to place a hand on his knee? That wasn’t the point though. Making sure that no tears fell from his eyes during his flashback, he looked down to Castiel.

“I’m a fireman. I was working a call about a set of condos being on fire. The uh, the building workers had cut corners, violated building regulations. It collapsed on top of me. My leg was hit by a rafter beam, my suit tore open on my axe, I’m just lucky that my helmet stayed on.” He thought to himself, _I can still hear the screaming of the people, the screaming of the flames, and the screaming of the siren as I was pulled from the building. I don’t think that I screamed though. No, all I remember after the searing pain is blackness._

“Well, now that I know what caused these injuries, I can think of ways to help rehabilitate you in the ways that make you want to be a fireman." He had gotten pretty excited by knowing that he can use this fireman's edge to his advantage. "We will work on carrying things like you would a hose and we can work on swinging things like you would an axe and-”

“No offense doc, but I think I grew out of my fireman phase in life after I heard my skin bubbling from the heat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vicodin: Classified as a narcotic, used to treat pain [usually high pain]. High risk for addiction and dependence. (source: https://www.google.com/search?espv=2&q=what+is+Vicodin&oq=what+is+Vicodin&gs_l=serp.3..0l10.88608.92248.0.92385.17.16.0.1.1.0.132.1436.14j2.16.0....0...1c.1.64.serp..1.16.1302...35i39j0i131j0i20j0i10.sPiLtYBiK7A)
> 
> Venlafaxine: Antidepressant and nerve pain medication. Can be used to treat depression, generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder and social anxiety disorder. (source:https://www.google.com/search?sourceid=chrome-psyapi2&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8&q=what%20is%20Venlafaxine.&oq=what%20is%20Venlafaxine.&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.4064j0j7)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for any spelling errors and stuff.

He wasn’t really sure what kind of reaction he expected Castiel to have to that small bit of information that he hadn’t told anyone else, but he for sure didn’t expect Castiel to draw his hand away from him. Folding them in his lap, Castiel looked down at his hands, letting Dean just stare at the top of his head and off of his thick, dark hair. Wow, he really wanted to run his fingers through that hair. Castiel looked back up to him, those once clear eyes were now kind of cloudy- not in a cataracts way but in a storm-clouds-over-the-open-ocean kind of way. “I get firefighters in here every once and awhile. Some are burn victims like yourself, some got caught under something, some even come in just to make sure that they are fit enough to work. But Dean, each one that has come in with an injury makes them want to work so much harder to get out there. They know what it’s like to feel fire racing up their body. They don’t want it to happen to anyone else. I figured that you would like to be the same way.” There was a slight pause from him and Dean took the moment of silence as a place to interject.

“Doc, I only came in here because I can’t do anything on my own anymore. My insurance is about to run out and it is only going to be continued if I have an actual reason to use it. Medicaid only pays for so much you know. I don’t want to be here, but considering that I can’t even take my left arm out of the sling without physically crying out in pain? Yeah, I need to be here. But I don’t need to go back to that firehouse, or that engine. I don’t need to go back and see flames. Because like you said, I know how they feel. So, just, can you just make my arm a little better so that I can get on with my life? Maybe get a desk job or something? Hell, I want to just be able to pick up the mail and hold my coffee at the same time.” He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror as he spoke, and what a sight that was. The cripple with the burned neck and bum arm was talking down to a doctor who was actually trying to help him. Kind of like high school all over again when he pushed his lab partner into the lockers because he had commented on the fact that Dean didn’t do his lab assignment because he was busy playing with baseballs. He dropped his shoulders in retreat. “Hey, I’m sorry doc. I really do want to be able to use my arm again.” Castiel looked up, a glinting smile upon his face, like he knew that’s what Dean was going to say.  
“I’m glad that you want to get better. But you are doing it my way, the fireman’s way.” Castiel stood up and came eye level with Dean. “So, are you ready to get going?” Dean held his tongue about the conversation and how it had gotten from the point of him almost cursing at the doctor for wanting to help to actually begging to be helped. What a sad circle he made in this yellow room.

“Yeah, I guess.” Castiel held out his hand, presumably for Dean to take, and slowly he did. It’s not that he didn’t trust the guy, but Dean’s used to trusting people who carry axes, not smiles. 

“Great.” Castiel helped Dean off of the table and to the chair that he had been sitting in earlier. He pushed over one of the exercise balls for Dean to rest his bad leg on. Then he rolled another one over and sat on it, right next to Dean’s left shoulder.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing before I do it. Right now, I am going to remove your leather jacket because I can’t do anything with that covering your injury.” Dean grimaced as the leather was picked up off of his shoulder. He slid it off of his other arm and Castiel laid it on the table. He sat back down on the ball. “Now I am going to feel your shoulder, see where everything is and if it’s placed correctly with the sling. Let me know if anything hurts.” The moment that Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s shoulder he winced with pain.

“I’ve gotta say, that really hurt Castiel.” Dean screwed his eyes tightly shut as Castiel continued on as gently as he could. Dean knew that he was just using the very tips of his fingers on him but it felt like knives were being jabbed into his shoulder. Eventually he pulled his hands away and moved in front of Dean.

“So, I know that hurt a lot, but I had to see what was up with your shoulder. Part of the pain is partly due to the burns, but another part of the pain is because your shoulder is dislocated. I don’t know how long ago that happened, but I do know that we need to get that fixed so that we can really start on a recovery for you.” Dean nodded, knowing that what the doc said was true. “Ok, let’s get a look at what kind of scar tissue we are dealing with. This will help me determine what we can do with you.” 

“What?” Dean sat back farther in the chair, making sure that his leg stayed in place. Castiel looked a little bashful.

“I am going to ask you to lift your shirt up so that I can see where the damage is.” Dean did his best to look stoic at the comment but that was increasingly hard as his anxiety at anyone seeing him so weak was making his anxiety jumpstart. 

“Only if we close the blinds. I don’t want people seeing me.” Castiel cast a glance at the windows, seeming to notice for the first time the couple of shops outside, people milling about. He looked back to Dean, his expression softening.

“Of course. We want to make sure that you’re comfortable.” With one fleeting glance at Dean, Castiel made his way to the windows. There were three large ones along the wall opposite of the mirrors. Starting from the left he pulled the shades down and twisted the cord so that people couldn’t look in. The light cut out dramatically. The next window made the room even darker. When the final one was closed the room became silent. Castiel stood at the window, giving Dean the privacy he wanted. 

He checked out of the corner of his eye to see what Castiel was doing- but he wasn’t doing anything. He had his back to him and Dean took the cue to lean forward and slowly lift the shirt off of his back. It pulled against some of the bandages that were still sitting at the top of his neck so that a rubbing collar wouldn’t reopen the wounds. He waited for a moment and then called the doctor over. “I can straighten my back but leaning side to side hurts. Slouching forward seems to help the pain a little bit, and leaning back helps for a little while, but then again I can’t hold that for very long.” For a moment the room remained quiet- only the soft tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick that echoed from the entrance impregnated the silence. Soon a quiet shuffle of feet. He didn’t mean to flinch when he felt cool fingertips on his back, but the instant cool on his burning skin was both refreshing and reminding.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. People do that all day, every day. The ones who can even look at me that is.” He didn’t bother to look at the doc as he came around to his side, running his fingers across his damaged shoulder and down his arm. 

“I wasn’t apologizing for the burns, but because my hands are so cold.” Castiel chuckled a little bit, something to help lighten the mood. The corner of Dean’s mouth creaked upwards a little bit, but fell a moment later. 

“How are you not flinching? Everyone flinches.” This time, as the doctor came to be in front of Dean, leaning down to rest on his heels, Dean gave him the courtesy of looking him in the eye.

“I’m not everyone, Dean. I am a doctor. I am a caregiver. I am someone who wants to help.” The burning sensation that rippled across his back every time he took a breath seemed to dim as he stared into those cool blue eyes. He was pretty sure that the doc was made of sedatives, the way that he was able to help with the pain; not just the pain along his back and neck and arm and leg, but the pain of his soul. He used to be well liked, respected, admired even by a select few. Yet this doctor was the only one to really see past the melted flesh, the bubbled skin, the broken mask that Dean had placed upon his face. In that small moment, when the doctor truly told him that he was here to help, Dean felt the urge to cry. Yes, he had cried before. Would you blame someone to cry if they had had their skin melted away, their leg broken in two places, their neck singed, forming a collar saying that the fire had claimed Dean as their own. 

“I actually think I might believe you, doc.” He didn’t smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in a small act of determination. Castiel offered a true smile of his own, helping Dean even more.

“I’m glad. I believe in you.” With that, not letting Dean dwell on those kind hearted word, he stood. “Ok, we are going to get into some basic stuff to see how much movement you actually have. I saw you walking around a little bit with your crutch, but that doesn’t convince me. Up and at ‘em.”  
The next forty minutes (because they had talked for so long) passed with the speed of frozen molasses. Anguished cries and guttural grunts echoed through the walls and Dean struggled to just take his arm out of the sling. He choked back a sob of pure pain as Castiel laid two cool fingertips to the inside of his wrist, checking to see how much of a pulse he can feel. After being told that he might have to get an upscale on how much vicodin he is taking, Dean was released back to the general public- a bad idea really. That’s like poking a hungry tiger, dangling a piece of raw meat in front of it, and then sending it out into the rest of the zoo so that it can prey on the innocent people. The ice white walls of the reception area were actually a welcome sight for the sweating fireman. He was just about to walk out the door when-

“Do you have someone to take you home, Dean?” He stopped with his good shoulder on the door, about to open it. Castiel walked up behind him. He could hear that billowing coat from a mile away after recognizing it as the sound of incoming pain.

“Yeah, my best friend is picking me up. She should be here in a few minutes.” He pushed against the door again, it swung open a lot easier than it did trying to pull it open earlier.

“You can always wait inside if you would like. I admire that you want to sit out there, but if it makes you feel more comfortable…?” He ended it there, letting Dean fill in the rest of the information on his own. The patient, client, torture victim however, was having none of it.

“Thanks, but I was already beaten by the zoo keeper. Might as well let the public gawk at the wild animal confined to a small enclosure,” he tapped his cast with his crutch quickly, “for a little bit. Maybe I’ll get a zookeeper who will be kind enough to put me out of my misery.” Dean stepped outside into the blinding world, knowing full and well that he had just crushed the nice man’s hopes. The thought of going back inside was tempting when a young child, maybe seven or eight, walked by with his mother.

“What happened to him mommy? He looks like a monster.”

“Tommy, it’s not polite to stare.”

“But mommy, he’s staring back…”

“No Tommy, it’s because you are talking loud. Leave the man alone.”

“Daddy told me monsters aren’t real.” Tommy then pointed at Dean, loud and proud for all the world to see. So, he took the best opportunity he absolutely could. Dean bent down as far as he could, pulled his lips back into a snarl and stared the boy down.

“Boo.” Yeah, the kid ran away screaming, yeah the mother chased him down the block, and yeah- he felt pretty shitty. But kids will be kids, and monsters will be monsters. It wasn’t but a few long and awkward stares later that his non-related cousin and absolute strongest rock in the world showed up in her rusted old beat up pickup truck. He climbed into the backseat of the cab so that he could stretch his leg out.

“Hey Dean, how was your appointment.” He pulled back out onto the road, checking to see if there were any cars flying down the road in this amazingly fast 35 miles per hour speed limit stretch of road. He looked into the rearview mirror, tilting it so that she could see her slightly older cousin in the back seat. “You look beat.” She earned herself a glare.

“I hate going to the doctors. That’s why I didn’t go before. It hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“But it helped, didn’t it?” She cocked an eyebrow as she spoke. He could see it in the mirror. 

“Why do you say that?” He gave her a quizzical look, not sure if she had received it because they were crossing train tracks.

“When you talk, instead of keeping your shoulder completely steady, you’re moving it. A little bit, let me say, but you are moving it.” He looked to his shoulder, covered by the leather jacket. He tried one of the exercises that Castiel had him practice. Shrug your shoulder, only five times. Then we will take a break. He shrugged them. Expecting pain, his face must have conveyed a much different reaction when his shoulder only pulled a little bit, and he could move it about two inches up.

“I told you. It helped.” She wound her way through to ‘downtown’, to where the condo/apartments were located. When she pulled into a spot, she turned to look at him. “You look happy.” Dean glanced up to her, feeling the way that his face pulled a little bit at the corners of his mouth.

“I don’t completely hate the doc, let’s just say. I hate that me makes me work, but he’s a good guy. I really am happy.” He moved his shoulder once more. “Thanks Jo.”

“Sure thing Dean-o.” She pulled her blonde hair back over her shoulder, deciding if Dean needed any help getting out. When he couldn’t reach the door handle, that was her cue. Hopping from the front seat, she made her way around the truck and to Dean’s door. Opening it and seeing the defeated look on his face, she again offered him a chance. “Dude, you do know that I have extra room at my place, right? Come live with me. I’ll help take care of things. Mom will bring over food every now and again.” He pushed himself out of the cab, nearly missing taking out Jo with his massive leg cast.  
“I’ve told you before Jo, I can do this on my own. I can still make food, and order out food. I can still wipe my own butt, even though sitting is a little hard. I can take my pills on my own and I can wash my own hair. Now please, just let me go.” She had grabbed onto his good arm as he made his way from the truck, helping support him as he slid to the ground.

“But it’s not safe! At least let me get you one of those Life-Alert things. You’re frail enough to need one.” She placed her hand on his chest, fingertips resting just a few inches from the bottom of the collar that stretched around his neck.

“Jo, I just-” he could feel his voice about to crack, about to split open with pain. He was already fifteen minutes late to take his Vicodin and his back was leaning against the truck. “Let me go.” He shook off her helping hand and marched away from her, as best as he could. She had parked one door too far so he hobbled his way over, feeling her burning eyes as he went. They caused his skin to crackle with little flames of pain. Dang, he wanted Castiel back. He’s the only one that actually helped ease the pain. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his keys, fumbling for a moment before settling it into the lock. The click it made was satisfying. Jo was still there, he could tell, but he couldn’t turn back around. Huffing his way in, he made a break for the kitchen where his pills were, shoving two Vicodin down his throat and wishing for the relief that it usually brought.   
In the silent apartment he could hear the crackling mess of the fire, the calls of the other men and women from the team. The beam breaking and crashing, crushing his leg and pinning him to the ground. The flood of heat that ripped through him as he felt his jacket arm get stuck on the axe; when he tried to pull his arm away it ripped open the suit. He could still smell the burning of flesh, the putrid taste of his own ash going into the air. He could hear his skin crackle and bubble and burn and hiss and spit and split and catch on fire.

He slid to the ground, back against one of the few smooth walls of the apartment. He let the tears fall freely. Heavy drops that painted his grey shirt black. Disappointment rampaged through him again as he hoped that the tear would land on his arm, giving him a little relief from the pain, but the didn’t. The just flooded the area around him. He was on an island in his own kitchen, carried away by thought and emotion. But the worst part of it all? As he looked around, he realized that the counters were too tall to get his arm over. His good leg was tired from all the work he had done today. He couldn’t get up.

Grabbing his phone from his back pocket, he steeled himself for a call he didn’t want to make. He knew that he needed someone with him though, someone to make sure that he could get up again, take his pills on time, let him know what an ass he was being. He searched through his phone and found the number quickly.

“Jo? I need help. Can you come back? I want to go home with you.” She chuckled on the other end of the line.

“I never left.” The soft pattering of feet walked right up to the door and it swung open, revealing the woman herself. She made her way over to him, and crouched down beside him. Wiping away one of those hot tears that did nothing to sooth his pain, she gave him a weak smile.

“We are going to get through this. You are going to get through this.” She wiped another away. “I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to get out!! This is my last week of school so I have finals, my teachers are out for my blood, I need a place to board my horse- there is just so much going on in my head right now that I haven't had the energy to write anything for a while. I hope you understand that this means that there is probably a TON of typos in here, so I apologize for that as well.

Moving in with Jo proved to be a much tougher experience than Dean had hoped for. While the thought itself was easy, ‘Just move in with me’, that also meant that he had to pack all of his stuff, box it all up, pack it up in her truck, unpack it at her place, and then he had to put everything away in her place. His current landlord gave him a promissory note that his apartment would be placed on the “renovation” list until he was able to move around on his own terms, just because Dean was one of the few that he actually liked.

So much for being able to get a job as well. His uncle, Jo’s step-father, and his father’s best friend (it’s a confusing relationship) owned a scrap yard and fixed up old cars for people. He was a certified mechanic and got paid by clients to fix their car. He worked well, he worked fast, and he worked alone. Dean would always help him on the days that he had off from the firehouse, but since the beam and the burns and the broken spirit, he couldn’t get under a hood anymore. That and his doctor told him that if he got any kind of foreign material in his burns that he would be subject to severe infection. So, he was out of any kind of job for a long time. Besides, he couldn’t use most of the left side of his body, so what would be the point to having anyone hire him?

It took three days to move all of his things over, since Dean would get too tired after one trip to go back and pack up more things. Bending and moving his back hurt too much, and he wasn’t allowed to take any more Vicodin than was prescribed. It took another three days to get everything unpacked into places that didn’t make Jo’s small house even more cluttered. Her mother owned a bar not too far outside of town and Jo had helped out there since she could walk, so she had enough of an earning to buy this small place. The thought of Jo, who was one year his junior, owning her own place caused his depression to hit again, wave after wave crashing into the rocky shore that was his heart. So when the next Thursday rolled around, he was almost too tired, both mentally and physically, to get out of bed, let alone go to PT.

He went all the same, earning a strange look from a man in a Bentley who saw him sitting in the backseat of the old pickup.

“Dean, good to see you again. I’m glad that you came back for your next appointment. I wasn’t too sure you would be returning.” He wasn’t wearing his doctors coat, that must have been a formality for new patients. Today he wore black slacks and a white polo tucked in, held secure by a black belt. No tie today.

“I wasn’t so sure that I would be back either, to be honest. But my roommate made me come.” He sat down on the plastic chair that he had last time, and Castiel rolled over a ball for his leg. Castiel took to making sure that his leg was all set before talking.

“Your roommate, are they helping you out? With tasks that you can’t do yourself, I mean.” Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s hip and pressed gently, getting a grunt as a response. “Did that hurt?”

“No. To the leg. There was pressure and you pressed on a bruise but there wasn’t any real pain. As for the roommate, yeah, she’s helping. She’s actually my best friend and co-firefighter. She was on the same call as I was when this happened. She and I have known one another for years, so she made me move in with her. For the past few weeks I’ve been on my own. Finally though, after sitting down and absolutely not being able to get up on my own, I agreed to move in with her.” He winced when Castiel placed his hands on his side, right hand on his back, left hand on his stomach.

“That’s good. I’m glad you have support. Is she still working?” He moved his fingers up, brushing against the bottom of the sling that housed Dean’s arm. “How’s your Vicodin treating you?”

“She’s still working. She’s on a 48 hour shift right now, but Chief knows the situation so if it’s an emergency she can come help me and then go back to the firehouse. And it’s working a little bit. I think I’m just becoming immune to it’s effects.” He winced again when Castiel moved his hand from his stomach and to his bad shoulder. “That still really hurts.” Castiel looked at him through the corner of his eye, a twinkle of laughter sparking in the light.

“Ok. Well, I will contact your physician and see if I can ask for an increase in your dosage. When did you last take some?”

“I get to take it every six hours. I took it about three hours ago.”

“Its effects have already mostly worn off?”

“For the most part. It helps with my back to not burn quite as badly, and same with my arm. But actually moving anything? Nothing but-” he hissed through his teeth when Castiel trailed his hand down his arm and to the sling, “-that.” It was mostly the skin that pulled along the back of his shoulder that made it so hard to move it any direction. It pulled and pulled and some days, Dean was sure that it was just going to rip open and Jo would find him on the floor of her house half bled out.

Castiel took his hand from Dean’s shoulder and moved to stand from behind him. “Hand on your shoulder.” Even though he was prepared for it, it still always hurt. At least this time he didn’t flinch away so badly. “Ok, can you shrug your shoulders for me? Just like we did last time.” Dean took a breath, and pulled his shoulders up. His right one nearly touched his ear, and his left one came up a few inches. “That’s awesome. Four more and we will take a break.” Five was the maximum amount of reps of anything that Castiel was having him do. It was nice knowing that he only had to do five, but they had to be really good before he could stop. He shrugged four more times, Castiel praising him each time.

“You know you really don’t have to do that.” Dean turned his head a little bit to see better behind him. That caused the skin to his next to pull as well, so he couldn’t go very far.

“Do what?” Castiel brought his hand down from Dean’s shoulder and traced his spine with his finger tips.

“The whole ‘good job’ thing every time I do something right.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut but didn’t make any sound when Castiel ran his hand over Dean’s big burn, the one just to the left of his spine. That’s where the jacket had pulled up after landing on the ground. Flames had licked there just as they had his arm.

“Ah, but you see, everyone likes it. The kids like it, the amputees like it, even the firemen like it. It’s a reward for being able to move.”

“Then shouldn’t I be getting a praise for every breath I breathe? After all, my lungs are burned too. Smoke inhalation? Or, how about every time I swallow? My throat is raw from the smoke as well. Or should I be getting a prize for every time I grow a new hair on my arm where my skin peeled off before my eyes? What about that?” Castiel took his hand from Dean and walked in front of him. The usually placid doctor actually looked mad.

“Look. I am doing the best I can. I see your battle scars and I admire you every time you take a step, because who walks away from something like that? Nobody. You should be proud that you even are breathing. Maybe not for yourself, but how about the nurses and doctors and surgeons who saved your sorry ass from the rubble? I saw that building collapse on TV Dean. My sister lived in those, and the only reason that she isn’t dead is because some fucked up hero walked in there, and broke his leg getting her out. So stop putting yourself down. Buck up a little bit, and be proud of the fact that my sister and her little teddy bear, that she named Smoky of all things, are safe.” Dean fell silent. The whole room had gone still. It was almost as though the world has stopped spinning.

“The little red haired girl is your sister?” Those eight words sliced through the thick air slowly, getting caught on everything in the room, including Dean’s bad shoulder.  Castiel fought back his anger, and Dean watched as it morphed into sadness.

“Anna. She’s 13 years old next week.” The doc slumped onto a nearby chair, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “My dad was out of town, my younger brother was at school. Anna wasn’t feeling well that day. She begged Gabriel to let her stay home from school, and of course he let her. He’s such a pushover. He really shouldn’t be at 18, but he is.” Castiel looked lost, his voice faltering; his usually perfect posture dissolved into a scared man with a broken and slightly burned family. He didn’t continue his story, but he didn’t have to. Dean knew the rest.

_The lights rushed past him- light, dark, light, dark, light, dark, light, dark, very light. There was something on his face, plastic- it smelled funny. As soon as the plastic smell became familiar to him, a wave of intense heat, like he was an inferno, rushed up his leg and through his body to his neck. He called out in pain, and a woman with a white mask covering her nose and mouth leaned over him._

_“Mr. Winchester. My name is Meg. Honey, we are rushing you to the O.R. because of an accident you had. Are you allergic to anything?” Another wave of heat hit him, and he arched his back to get away from it, but that only caused it to hurt more. Finally it subsided a little bit and he was able to answer her question._

_“Mushrooms. They make me break out in hives.” Nurse Meg chuckled gently and looked forward to where they were rolling him. He choked on the words but managed to get them out through the pain. “The girl. Red hair, teddy bear. Did she get out? Is she here?” The nurse looked back down at him, eyes screwed in confusion._

_“What girl?”_

_“That I pulled FROM THE FLAMES?! Tell me that she’s alright?!” The screaming wasn’t just out of annoyance that the nurse didn’t know, it wasn’t her fault. The screaming came from the fact that they hit a bump in the hallway and his leg exploded in pain._

_“Sir, we need to stabilize your leg. We are entering the O.R. right now. We will have to keep you awake for that. I will look into if there is a little redheaded girl with a teddy bear in here. Do you know what she was wearing?” He knew that she was just trying to distract him from the bright overhead lights and the men and women rushing about him, getting everything ready._

_“She had on- had on a yellow shirt, no it was a dress, no it was a large shirt. Her shoes had the little wheels in them. I know because when she came towards me she slid a little bit. Uh, her eyes are- no, fuck. I don’t know what color her eyes are! I always know the color of people’s eyes. They always look at me, I always see their eyes-” He heard someone whisper:_

_3-_

_2-_

_1-_

_CRACK! He cried out in pain again, almost passing out once more. “Hold on, one more. You have two breaks in here.” 3-2-1- This time he did pass out. The edges of his vision swam and Nurse Meg turned fuzzy for just a moment. When he woke up, he was like this. Full cast._

Their appointment ended for the day. Dean was told to work on shrugging his shoulders, moving his head back and forth, and trying to wiggle his fingers and hand on his left side. He had fucked up… really badly.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

By the time his next appointment rolled around, Dean had what Jo called an epiphany. After figuring out that he could not only shrug his left shoulder even higher than last week, he could lift his arm a little too. He would be getting his cast off in four days, ten hours, nineteen minutes, thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two…

“Good afternoon Mr. Winchester.” Shit, when the doc who only called people by their first names starts calling you by your last name, you know you screwed up. Dean looked him in the eye and gave him a nod.

“Good afternoon Castiel.” He would make this right. The motions they went through were the usual ones. Castiel didn’t praise him each time he lifted his shoulder to his awaiting hand, nor did he say anything when he turned his neck fairly well too. He didn’t even say anything when Dean was able to move all of his fingers, including his thumb, which had gotten fairly crispy in the flames.

“Well, I would have to say that you are doing very well. I hope that the call to your doctor went through. You seem to be in less pain. Is that due to time or due to medication?” Dean hated that he was being so formal. The touching of his burns and muscles was far less tender and more deliberately clinical. He no longer would smile at the small jokes that Dean would crack, nor would he be so willing to make jokes back. Dean had one last chance to keep this one last person from losing hope in him. He knew that this was his fault, the distance, the ‘doctor’s office feel’ about the situation. He was going to fix it.

“I think it was more of a time healed thing. My prescription didn’t get a dosage uppage because of dependency concerns.” Castiel just nodded, swiping at a stray lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes. Usually his hair was up and wild, but today it had seemed slightly combed down, trying to control the wildness. He had to admit that the doctor looked a lot better with the  wind blown hair. Even though Lawrence wasn’t that windy, the doctor seemed to never be able to control it.

“Ok, so I think we are done here today. I want to to work on that shoulder movement. Maybe start trying some small circles. Hunching your shoulders in and pulling them back. Let’s get those muscles working again and get your skin to be able to accept more movement. Everything else should be the same exercises.” Castiel pulled away from Dean, letting him slip his jacket back on over his shoulder. Dean could see the annoyance in Castiel’s eyes- the temperature outside had been steadily rising over this past month, hitting the 80’s on a regular basis. To have him wearing this heavy leather jacket, it was cause for concern.

“Hey Castiel, before I go… uhm-” Dean swallowed the pride in his voice, realizing how his voice had become less severe about most everything. Castiel turned back to look at him after he had been walking towards the office towards the back of the room.

“Yes?” Ok, he was still a little mad but he still retained the professional tone. Dean hoped that he would remain professional if he didn’t at least get more like the Castiel that Dean had met before.

“I was hoping that, as both a thank you and an apology for- for everything, that I could take you out for coffee one of these days. It would be based on your schedule.” Dean stood from the chair, shifting his weight a little bit on his crutch. “I wanted to say sorry. I’m a jackass, I know. Jo’s told me that on many occasions, and so has my uncle. So please, let me buy you one coffee. Let me make up for my behavior.” Castiel’s face was impossible to read- the lack of expression was actually a little disturbing. But to Dean, after spending a few hours studying that face, he knew that the minute twitch in his lips was a sign.

“I would like that. Thank you. You’re my last client for today. Would you like to go over now?” Dean was fairly positive that Castiel would agree, but to have him say ‘let’s go now’ caught him off guard a little bit. His face probably showed that surprised emotion based off of the actual smile that painted itself upon the doctor.

“Uh- uh sure. We can do that. I’ll text my ride and let her know that she can stay at the station for a while longer.” Castiel nodded, and Dean pretended not to notice the way that Castiel’s lips curled into a soft smile. Maybe the doctor actually did like him as a human being, and not so much as a prick that he knew he had been. Jo agreed to let Dean stay in town longer, she had just been out on a fire and needed a few hours of shut eye before she was good to drive again. By the time Dean turned back to the doctor he was waiting at the door to the receptionist area. He hobbled over there, and heard Castiel talking with the receptionist (Ruby, he learned her name was).

“Hey, I’m going out for a little while. Dean is my last client today, right?” There was some typing on the keyboard.

“Yeah, he’s the last one today. Say, was he as much of a dick today as he has been?” Obviously she didn’t notice that Dean wasn’t too far away, or she wouldn’t have said that- he hoped.

“Actually, I’m going out with him. He was quiet today, and he offered to buy me a coffee as a thank you and an apology for his behavior.” Dean nodded in silent agreement, not opening the door yet because being locked up in a house all day makes you really good at eavesdropping.

“Why did you put air quotes around behavior? He’s an ass-hole!”

“Ruby, he’s still in the training room talking with his ride home. And I put air quotes around that word because who wouldn’t have an attitude after what he’s been through? You know the people I work with. I don’t take burn victims because of their lack of respect, but he saved Anna. What else was I supposed to do? Let his insurance waste away? I’ve seen his records- his insurance isn’t too hot. Let him be. Let me have one coffee with him, let me get a formal apology. And if he heard you, he will be receiving a formal apology from you.” He heard Castiel huff and shift his weight. Obviously he wasn’t happy with how Ruby was treating the situation, but the fact that Castiel only took Dean in because he saved his little sister? He wasn’t so sure coffee was even a good idea anymore.

“Hey guys. Got off the phone with my ride. She’s happy to take a nap before grabbing me.” He pushed open the door with his crutch, making sure that his presence was announced before anything else was said with the intent of hurting his feelings. Not that he really had any feelings left, but hey, that phrase works in this situation. Castiel backed away from the desk that Ruby was at, and the slightly smug look on his face was a sign that he had won that round.

“Ready to go? I know this little cafe just down the road. Think you will be able to walk down there?” His concern for the cripple was obvious, but the gesture was too… pitiful.

“Yeah, I’ll be good. Let’s go.” Just before he walked out of the door, he turned to Ruby. “It was SO nice to see you again, Ruby!” He almost choked because of how sweet he made those words. Her slightly tanned face turned a little ashy at the comment, but she pursed her lips and returned to working on the computer.

They stepped outside into the brisk air. It was only April and the winds were still blowing from the west. Colorado must be really windy this time of year since this was just the tail end of what was passing over the state. Dean stopped to turn up the collar on his jacket before hobbling after Castiel. Between the time that he gone inside and come back, the temperature had dropped quite a bit. Perhaps a storm was about to roll through. The doctor had grabbed a blue and white fuzzy sweater looking thing at some point before they left, and Dean took a moment to admire the snowflakes that were around his shoulders.

“Nice jacket doc.” He finally spoke after they had passed three stores. Castiel faltered in his step to look at the thing, like he had forgotten he had put it on. When he looked back up he was smiling.

“Thanks. Anna got it for me last Christmas. I hated it at first but, it’s grown on me. Especially now.” Dean caught Castiel’s eye for a few steps before breaking the contact between them. He watched the ground pass under foot, making sure that neither his crutch nor cast-bound foot would catch on a crack or anything. It would be just what he needed to fall on his face in front of his physical therapist. A few more stores went by and Dean could see the tables and chairs of a cafe just a little farther down the block. He hated that he was rushing to catch his breath. Nothing was spoken between the two of them but Castiel slowed his pace down even farther, a small act that really meant the world to Dean.

“Dean, I really have to ask. Why did you invite me to get coffee? You never really seemed to be so sorry about your actions before. Why now?” He had shoved his hands into the pockets of that blue sweater and turned to look at Dean, eyes scrunched in curiosity. A few more steps of quiet passed before Dean could answer.

“I was a jerk. I’m always a jerk, but I’m more of a jerk to those who actually care about me. I push everyone that cares about me, and that I care about, away because it’s easier for them to hate me and not miss me when I die in a fire, than to love me and want me back. I think that’s why I’m so mean anymore. I was supposed to die in that fire. I thought I wanted to die in that fire. And you, apart from the hospital staff, were the first to really make me see that life is worth living- I wasn’t supposed to die because then I wouldn’t have met you.” He felt his voice drop in intensity during that last sentence. “I wanted to say thank you for making me see that pushing people away doesn’t do any good, especially to the ones that I really need around.” He paused to let Castiel say something, but the silence was answer enough. They finished walking over to the cafe and found their way inside.

A small bell rang as they entered, alerting everyone of the presence of Doctor Frankenstein and his monster. Only a couple of eyes looked up, but the ones that did stayed looking. Dean hunched his shoulders over as best he could, hiding as much of his neck behind his collar that he absolutely could. He stayed like that until they reached a table. Castiel let Dean sit first, extending his arm as the invitation. He took the seat that faced away from everyone else, looking at the wall instead of the disgusted eyes of the other patrons. Castiel sat down as well, not commenting about the seating arrangement. Fairly soon a waitress came over.

“Hey guys, my name is Claire, how can I- uh, how can I serve you?” That stutter in her words? She saw Dean.

“Large coffee, black.” He spoke at her, but couldn’t look at her. She did after all take a half step towards Castiel when she saw the burns along his neck, and the red and cracked skin that was his hand that showed out from under his leather jacket. She nodded, her thick blonde hair swinging into her face as she wrote it down.

“And for you sir?” Dean saw her look directly at Castiel, not shuddering away from him. Dean leaned back farther in his chair, as much as his leg would allow.

“Same as my friend.” He looked up. That wasn’t meant as a ‘he is my friend’ but more of like a ‘here is my business partner’ kind of saying. Even so, he was a little flattered that Castiel would say that. That small bit of joy was replaced with hatred soon enough though. Claire had that ‘you said friend?’ expression on her face. As if she couldn’t believe that these two men- one perfect in every way, shape, and form, and one who wished he would have died in that fire- could have come into this coffee joint together.

“Look, kid. I get that you can have your own opinions, but if you want a good tip and a silent lip from us, you will do well to keep your face in a neutral expression at this table. Don’t bother returning if you can’t look both of us in the eye.” The other two at the table sat/stood in stunned silence. The girl, Claire, looked absolutely abashed by what just occurred. Dean on the other hand? Someone actually stood up for him. Jo and Bobby don’t even really do that. He couldn’t look up to Castiel, but when Claire turned her head towards him, he met her look halfway. She was actually quite pretty. She even somewhat looked like Castiel in a sense. Her hair, though blonde, was thick and wavy. She had these baby blue eyes that seemed to tell you to ‘fuck off’ if you messed with her. There was something about her smile though- it wasn’t as harsh as the rest of her. That’s probably why she reminded Dean so much of Castiel. His smile could just light up a room.

“You don’t have to say anything. He said it for you.” Dean just let her go without having to make her say anything else. She smiled at that a little bit, happy that she didn’t have to. As she turned away with their order, Dean saw Castiel glance up at him softly, those electric blue eyes just peeking out from behind thick eyelashes.

When his heart skipped a beat, this time he knew it wasn’t because of the arrhythmia- What was he getting himself into?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not written for this work since the last time I posted a chapter... so obviously it's been a while. As per usual, it's not edited. I think I found a way to work with this piece that I can finish it in a few chapters, so I'll try to continue this as best I can. My new job lets me use my laptop, so I may even be able to write while I'm at work. I'm sorry for the long delay- I had no clue how to continue this until I got a comment on here asking if I was ever going to. I reread the work, and it just came to me... so here you go.

They were halfway through their coffee’s before either one of them said anything that wasn’t about the roast or the blend. For once, Dean was grateful for the silence. For so long the silence had meant that something was wrong- his brother wasn’t breathing, his dad was passed out drunk, the jail cell he was locked in had been shut down for the night. The silence this time though was comforting. He didn’t have to think about anything. His troubles were melted away with the steam from the coffee that rose up to his face. The silence was always something that he had embraced though- it’s the calm right before you wake up, the gentle lull of life right when you get in the shower, and until recently, it was the moment that he had stepped into a burning building. Nothing is quieter than a fireman looking for someone to be saved.

“Are you ok, Dean? You kind of zoned out there for a minute.” He glanced up through his lashes to see the doctor’s face twisted in concern. The steam from his coffee swirled around his face, painting what looked like wings behind him and a halo above his head. But as he blinked the peaceful image melted away, the words on his breath carried away with it.

“Uh, I’m fine. Just- no, I wasn’t even thinking. I was just enjoying the silence.” He lifted the mug of coffee to his lips, letting the dark liquid flow into his mouth. The bitter taste was a sweet welcome back to the world of civility.

“Well, you should ‘not-think’ more often. For a moment, I could have sworn that there was a smile on that stoic face of yours.” Dean lowered his mug and looked the doctor square in the face. He could feel the corner of his lips twitch upwards. It had been a while since they had done that.

“It’s only because of you. For once, I don’t feel like a- like a monster. Finally, someone other than Jo who can see me without seeing the burns and the scars. It’s something that I’ve missed. Hell, even my little brother wouldn’t look me in the eye when he came to see me in the hospital.”

“He wouldn’t? That’s not OK Dean. I don’t see what the point is in ignoring someone who needs a little compassion.” He put the mug down onto the little round table they shared, intertwining his fingers around the still warm cup.

“The thing is, it’s not just compassion that I’m lacking here. It’s the entire process of having anyone even begin to think about be without cringing because of what happened. Just to have someone who is willing to sit here with me like I am still a human, not a monster or a demon, it’s rare. It’s refreshing. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have a friend.”

“Isn’t Jo your friend? She’s doing well in letting you stay with you and for driving you to and from your appointments with me.”

“Yeah, she’s a friend, but more or less she’s tired of taking care of me. I’ve been with her at her place just a few weeks now and, well, she’s done with me and my, as she put it, ‘pity party of one’.”

“‘Pity party of one’? That’s not fair. She should know more than anyone what happened!” All but slamming his near empty mug on the table, his voice growing in power was enough to cause a few heads to turn their way. However, Castiel soon realized what he had done and regained his composure in the face of the public.

“Getting defensive? My goodness, someone might actually believe that you care.” He gently scoffed at the idea, but instantly regretted it when he saw the flash of pain cross the doctor’s eyes.

“Well, I guess that’s actually because I do care. Is that really so hard to believe?” He paused slightly, thinking about what he said. Seeing Dean ready to retaliate the point that he made, he finished his statement. “Don’t answer that actually.” It wasn’t even the look on his face that made the doctor stop talking about that. It was the way that his entire demeanor changed. For the first time, Castiel didn’t see the wounded man that had so unwillingly asked for help. He now saw a man with determination his eye, a determination that could no longer be met. Truly, it was heartbreaking. It was like seeing a tiger trapped in a cage at the zoo.

“I know that you said to not answer that question, but I don’t. I’ll tell you why too.” Castiel, unsure as to where this conversation was going, was slightly concerned at the way that Dean’s eyes were set into a hard look, one that he had probably perfected from the years of fighting fires. Though it couldn’t have just been the fires that had caused Dean to break in half so hard. He steeled himself, and it seemed that the man on the other side of the table was doing the same. “I don’t think that you care. I think that you’re a doctor and you’re paid to help me. I wish that I didn’t have to be helped, but that’s the luck of the draw right there. I couldn’t trust my father to keep myself and my brother safe, that was my job. I couldn’t trust my father to be there for us when we needed him the most. I couldn’t trust my uncle to have enough food on the table for us, even though he did better than my dad. I couldn’t trust my best friend for years because she had given away my most precious secret. I couldn’t trust my brother for a while because his ‘too-curious’ mind would make him wander around, get lost. But most importantly, I couldn’t trust myself to not do something so stupid that I would wind up back in a jail cell.

“Of course I don’t trust you,” he chided. “Why would I trust the man who can’t even look at me without thinking ‘burn victim’? I’m not just a burn victim. I’m a brother. I’m a fireman. I’m someone who shouldn’t ever have to be saved.” Unlike Castiel whose voice grew as he got angrier, Dean’s softened. His voice became even rougher than it already was, and it seemed to act as nails on a chalkboard for the doctor, who cringed at the words that Dean all but spat at him. It was venom coming from Dean; a cobra spitting and hissing at the thing that threatened it. Castiel was smart to lean away from him. For a moment, just a brief glance, he thought that Dean’s eyes had turned coal black. It must have been the shadows though.

To Castiel though, it wasn’t the burns and the broken leg that caused Dean to be a monster, nor was it the retaliation of being gawked at. But he finally understood _why_ he was being called a monster. It was this pure rage that roared through his veins, the venom filled voice, the deadly looks. Dean was more of a starved tiger trapped in a too small cage than a man, lunging at anything that moved, hoping that he just might be able to drag something in there with him. A chew toy, a meal, whatever it was, Castiel now knew that it was the fear in his eyes that drove him to help this fallen man.

“Dean. You should never have had to be saved. You should never have had to face what you did. But I’m not going to give up hope for you. I’m not going to let you tear yourself to pieces over something that you absolutely can’t control! What you can control though is if you ever plan to let yourself get better.” Trying not to let his voice snap in the way of anger, Castiel calmly picked up his coffee, finished it off in one long gulp, and stood from the table. “I won’t give up hope on you because I see the determination to do better. I just don’t see how you don’t see it.” Castiel pulled out his wallet, and slid a few dollars on the table. “Come find me when you decide that your life is actually worth living.” With that, he snatched his blue coat from the back of the chair, and stalked off down the street.

He was halfway back to his office when he heard the familiar ping of crutches hitting concrete. “Castiel! Wait!” Could that broken voice really belong to the man who had spat anger driven words at him not so long ago? When Castiel pulled up to a stop, the sounds of the crutches slowed, and soon enough, Dean made his way to face Castiel. His shoulders slumped, his head hung low. From an outside perspective, he could now see just how badly the scars on his neck were prominent in the sunlight, even when shielded by the thick leather collar. The scars were mostly on his left side, but the crackled skin crawled up to his ear, and just past his hairline. It traveled under his jaw and down into his shirt. Ugly red and black splotches stood out from the bubbled nature of his skin, and Castiel could just make out the stained yellow pallor from where the infection he must have had had been cleaned out.

Finally Dean looked up at him, hiding beneath his eyelashes. “I don’t think my life will ever be worth living-” Castiel rolled his eyes and went to push past Dean, who held him back with a painful look of being lost. “I don’t think my life will ever be worth living without someone there to tell me how to live it. I’ve never had to take care of myself, by myself. I’ve always taken care of my father, brother, uncle- family. I’ve never had time to think about caring for myself, and I have no clue how to do that, Cas. So no, my life isn’t worth living. But it will be worth fighting for if someone can tell me _how_ to fight.” Still on edge from the earlier conversation, Castiel looked at Dean with deep conviction. This wasn’t a task that most people wanted to take on, let alone be apart of. Would he be able to accomplish what is asked of him, or would he let Dean crash and burn- metaphorically of course-?

Finally, Castiel let himself soften, reaching a hand out to the one of Dean’s that was pressed against his chest, bound by the sling. It was just as much of a shock as it was to Dean as it was to him when their fingers intertwined. This wasn’t an action made for love or lust, but an action made for support. Dean, with his broken body and broken mind, would finally have someone to help him. “Dean,” he slowly took his hand away, mostly because he knew that this was the burned side of his body. “I can’t promise you anything. I can’t promise that you will stop feeling pain, and that these scars will go away. What I can promise you though is the chance to become a better person for what you’ve gone through. You were a good person anyways- but I always say that about firemen. But, yes, I’ll do my best to help you.” Dean’s face was no longer skewed with worry, but had now livened up a little bit. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as hard of a task as he had expected…

They had agreed to go back to the coffee shop, but only to sit outside at one of their patio tables. It was decently warm out. The wind had died down and the clouds had all been pushed aside to reveal a brightly shining sun. Their rough exchange had left them both feeling a little defeated, realizing that both were correct in what the other had said. Dean looked at the doctor- his hands were fiddling with a loose string on the corner of his sweater, and his eyes were diverted from him. “Castiel, please. I, I get it. Trust me, I really do. I get that you want to help me, and to make me realize that there’s so much more for me out there.” Castiel looked up then. His blue eyes shimmered with the promise of a tear, but he blinked that away quickly.

“There is-” Dean held up his hand to the man who closed his mouth with an audible clack of his teeth.

“But can you also realize that this is all new for me? I’m new to this ‘powerless’ feeling that I’ve got going inside of me right now. I’m new to having to ask for help, and I’m new to having a roommate. PT is something that I never thought I would ever have to go through because I am in excellent shape.” They both let a sly grin escape, and Castiel even huffed out a small chuckle, nodding along in agreement. Dean’s voice fell again, however. It had gotten light and carefree as before the accident, but once again it became the voice of a shattered soul. “These coffee dates- or whatever they are,” he added quickly as Castiel’s eyes got fairly wide, “seem to be the only thing helping my spirit. You really are helping, doc. It’s just going to take some time before I get used to being… well, me.”

They sat there in silence for a moment or two while the words fell around the doctor. He let himself think about what to say before opening his mouth. “I- I don’t usually take burn patients because of their attitude, much like the one that you have. This whole ‘woe is me’ complex that you’ve shoved yourself into… this is why I don’t take burn patients. Let me tell you this, Dean-” he stopped and sucked in a heavy breath, preparing himself for whatever it was that he was about to say. Dean sat back in his chair, ready to make a break for it, but he let himself relax when he remembered the attitude problem that was just mentioned. “You’re the only person who’s ever explained _why_ you have that attitude, that entire look on life. You call yourself a monster, but I just see a scared man.”

Dean sunk lower into his chair as best that he could. He didn’t need the shrink session. He had those twice a week. This was different though. He looked at his hand that stuck out from under the sling. The hand itself wasn’t all that badly burned, just second degree apart from his knuckles. They had bubbled under the heat, and the skin was still yellow in color. He flexed his fingers as best he could, and winced in pain.

“Being scared isn’t something to be ashamed of, Dean. I just want you to know that I was scared too. Having the man who saved my little sister sitting on my exam tables? I was terrified. What if you had showed up and had talked about how brave you were to run into a building for some little girl? What if you talked about how your life is more important than Anna’s? That the reason you’re even here is because that little girl had given part of her life to you? I was scared to death that I would have to turn away the man that had saved- not only Anna- but me as well?

“Anna is my everything. The fact that she’s alive gave me more than enough reason to accept you as a patient. Dean?” Dean looked up from his hand at the mention of his name. “You may think that you’re a monster, but you’re still a hero. It’s ok to be scared. Heros get scared.” Dean looked to the doctor with trepidation. Could he really mean what he had just said? That he was a hero? He made to argue the ‘hero’ point when it suddenly came to him.

This- this was the reason he was a fireman. He was made to be selfless. He was made to give everything in return for nothing. He was made to sacrifice what he had so that others may be given a chance at a happy life. Maybe he didn’t view himself as a hero as Castiel, and as probably Anna, saw him, but he knew that he was. He was a hero for cats stuck in trees, and for little girls clinging to teddy bears.

 

_“Little girl? Sweetheart, where are you?!” Dean shouted at the top of his lungs above the roaring blaze of the fire. He had just seen her. He knew she was close._

_“HELP!” Dean whipped around to the source of her shrill voice. Good lord, she couldn’t be more than eleven. There she stood, on the other side of a collapsed hole in the floor. She had on a long yellow shirt- maybe her dad’s? But it was the red hair that was smoking at the ends that really caught his attention. Red hair is fiery, but this was too much._

_‘Hey there, I’m here to help you, OK?” Going against the rules, he lifted the face shield of his helmet. He kept his respirator on, but at least now he looked a little more human. His voice was muffled under the face mask he wore. The little girl nodded, eyes wide and tear streaks forming in the soot that settled upon her doll-like face. He motioned for her to jump over the hole- it wasn’t really that big. He could step over it, but he was far heavier than she was, especially in all of his gear._

_“I’m scared.” Her voice shook and wobbled. She wasn’t scared- she was frozen solid from being absolutely petrified._

_“I know, I know you are. I need you to trust me though. You can jump this. You’ve got long legs. I know you can do this. Can you be brave for me?” She squeezed her eyes shut, and vigorously shook her head. There was a deep groan behind him, and Dean knew there wasn’t time for this. He couldn’t go over to her though, the floor was too unstable. So, he stopped. He crouched down and got down to eye level with her. “Hey! Look at me, ok?” She opened her eyes. He was too far away to see what color they were- besides the flames made everything charred. “My name is Dean. What’s your name?”_

_“A-Anna.” She was shaking now. This wasn’t good- if he body was in shock she was about to collapse._

_“Nice to meet you Anna. What’s your teddy’s name?” Dean spoke quickly, though he did his best to keep a level voice. There were shouts from the other side of the building as something crashed to the ground. He could hear his fire-family calling to one another to make sure they were all good. Turning his attention back to the little girl- what did she say her name was?- he caught the last sound from the name of her teddy. “That’s a cool name. Hey, I want you to do something for me, ok?”_

_The little girl nodded her head, and clutched at her teddy, holding him tight to her chest. “I want you to toss your teddy to me, ok?” Her eyes got even wider that they had been. “Look, I’m not leaving you without your teddy. If you see that your teddy can make it over this hole, I know you can too.”  He held out his hands, ready to catch the flying bear. There wasn’t time for this but he had to get her out of here any way he could. Suddenly, there was a bear in his hands. He sent a quick thanks to the man upstairs, and tucked the teddy in his pocket._

_“Good job. Ok, it’s your turn now. Teddy made it across, now you can. I’m here. I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you. Trust me, I’ll catch you. He sat back on his heels and spread his arms. His left shoulder covered the head of his axe, hopefully she wouldn’t catch herself on it. She took a small step forward, and looked into the hole. “NO! Don’t look down. Look at me! Look at me. You can’t fly if you look down. You have to see where you’re going if you want to fly. Please, look at me.” He voice broke slightly. He heard another deep groan behind him, and it lasted longer than the first one._

_There she was. Eyes wide open, she stretched across the hole in one good leap. She landed smack in the middle of his chest, and he toppled over backwards. He held her close, one hand behind her head and the other around her back. He kissed the top of her red hair, then climbed to his feet. He held her up on his right shoulder, her long legs wrapped around his waist. He looked towards the stairs that he had climbed up, and saw that there was a rafter hanging down in front of them._

_The heat was starting to get to him, and he was sweating more than usual in his suit. The ladder was several windows over, so there was no way to get her out through the window. He was too big to fit under the beam without chopping it, and there was no way that he was swinging his axe while there was a little kid around who could get hit. He set her down, and shoved her teddy back into her arms. He didn’t even look at her as he told her run down the stairs. At least those were safe- he knew that._

_“I’ll be right behind you. I promise! Go! Get out!” She bolted, shoes slipping- he saw little wheels in the heels of them. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to look at him, but he just yelled for her to go. He pulled his axe from its sheath, and raised it over his head. He brought it down on the beam, and heard the crack before anything else._

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

The days of them working together were long and tiring, for both parties involved. Through their sessions, while improvement was made, they struggled with the reality of what was happening. Dean could never get over himself, or the fact that this had happened to him. No, he was always too focused on being a person of integrity- and cruel humor. He laughed his way through their hours together, though squinting his eyes at the pain. Castiel was always impressed- and concerned- at the strength Dean had to keep going. Though his eyes watered, and he hissed through his teeth, he refused to complain about being here.

They had agreed long ago that after their sessions, for Dean’s was the last of the week for Castiel, that they would go together and get coffee. Jo had soon gotten used to this arrangement, and she was happier for the fact that she could get a few more hours of work in on those days.

Dean and Castiel’s conversations would stretch long into the afternoon, usually talking until the rim of the melting golden sun touched the horizon, and the first flickering stars would blink their way to the sky. They passed stories of their lives back and forth, though always avoiding three things: Dean’s father, Castiel’s sister, and the injury that brought these two men together. They spoke of first memories and of lasting loves, realities they wish existed, and how the one they were in was cursed. What they would never talk about, however, was THAT day. Sure, they talked about how Anna was doing, and how Dean’s leg was feeling- but they always skirted around the conversation of the actual fire. Who could blame them though? That was a bad memory for both of them. They had become unfortunate friends through that situation- they should have never met in the first place.

It was after about three weeks of meeting at the coffee shop the Dean was finally released from the cast on his arm, and only needed to keep it in the sling if he was going to be somewhere busy. That meant though, more training. More curses through clenched teeth, more temper tantrums thrown when he couldn’t do something. But just two weeks after having that sling taken off, he finally saw the improvements. The doctors at the hospital had advised him to keep it close to him as best as possible, and to be extra careful when outside. Even though it had been at a ninety degree angle for several weeks in that sling, it was hard to get back to that degree of flexion. Having it out meant that it was straight. Now that it was straight, the new skin around his elbow had gotten stiff from lack of movement. Castiel seemed to be on a warpath today to get that issue figured out.

“Alright Dean, just a few more reps and then we can take a break.” Castiel guided Dean’s arm forward, and then elevated it through his shoulder. That was the easy part. What caused Dean to suck in air was when he had to then bend his arm at the elbow. New skin was still stretched taught through the joint, but it had to be moved and flexed so that it wouldn’t grow too tight. Castiel slid his fingers to the underside of Dean’s wrist, and gently pulled on his forearm. “There you go! Two more, then a rest.” Dean sighed as he let he arm relax by his side, Castiel’s hand still resting near his own. There had been more than just a few light touches lately. Maybe it was all the coffee getting to them, or maybe it was the fact that they spent so much time alone together anymore- anyway that you looked at it, they were far closer than a doctor and a patient should be.

Dean half-ignored the fact that Castiel’s right hand was resting on the lower half of his back- as much as he actually enjoyed the sensation- and pulled his arm up. He flexed his muscle to bring his forearm up. “One more Dean.” He dabbed at his forehead with the back of his right hand, wiping away the beads of sweat that always accumulated there. Glancing at the ticking clock on the wall, he smiled in relief as he saw there were only 25 minutes left of his session- then off to get coffee. “Dean, focus! Come on, we’re almost done here.” Dean glanced back at the doctor physical therapist behind him, blue eyes furrowed in frustration almost as much as Dean’s were.

“What’s up your butt, dude? You never rush.” Dean circled his bad shoulder back once, relieving the extra tension he had built up. He pulled his arm up, and was just beginning to bend it at his elbow-

“I’ve got a date tonight.” WHAM! Castiel clutched at his nose, catching the blood that almost immediately began dripping. Dean pulled his left arm close to his body, doubling over in pain. It had been awhile since he had punched anybody with his left hand.


End file.
